


Footsteps in the Sand

by orphan_account



Category: Highlander: The Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-06-10
Updated: 2000-06-10
Packaged: 2018-12-18 05:50:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11868018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived atDaire's Fanfic Refuge. Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onDaire's Fanfic Refuge's collection profile.





	Footsteps in the Sand

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Daire's Fanfic Refuge](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Daire%27s_Fanfic_Refuge). Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Daire's Fanfic Refuge's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/dairesfanficrefuge/profile).

Footsteps in the Sand

_Footsteps in the Sand_

Disclaimer: Highlander, created by Gregory Widen, and all related characters, locations, and events are the property of Rysher Davis/Panzer Productions. In Highlander continuity this story takes place after the fourth season episode "Glory Days". The character of Q is borrowed from the Star Trek Universe and belongs to Paramount Pictures. The story and any other characters are mine. 

* * *

Joe Dawson sighed as he lugged yet another beer cask over behind the the counter of polished oak with its veneer of brass trim. He filled the taps for yet a third time. He couldn't remember his bar being this busy, but for some reason the scenes from _Casablanca_ kept running through his head. He had gone to see the movie with Betsy Fields, an old high school sweetheart who had waltzed into his life, stirring up a lot of old memories. _Of all the gin-joints in all the world..... Nah, Gotta stop thinking like that._ However, too much time had passed, and their lives had gone in separate directions. Vietnam had come; he had gone to war she had moved on and was married. 

His life had changed drastically, not just having prosthetic legs. He had been recruited by Ian Bancroft into the Watchers: a secret society of men and women who had introduced him into the world of the Immortals; and his world had never been quite the same since. 

Thinking of these, years later, he wondered why things sometimes work out for the best, even when one tends not to realize it at the time. Dawson wondered if Duncan MacLeod, his assignment, his friend, ever felt anything of the same. "Sooner or later, everyone comes to Joe's," he muttered, setting the keg down. 

* * *

It was true, sooner or later everyone did manage to walk into Joe's bar. Mostly regular patrons looking for a drink, or travelers or tourists off the interstate, or people looking for a little light jazz music. 

At the table where Duncan and his young protégé Richie sat drinking beer talking of inconsequential things. They felt the tell-tale "Buzz" that presaged the presence of another Immortal. Duncan, being more seasoned picked up the presence a scant few seconds before Richie did. Both scanned their surroundings with a quick look around. 

Her long hair was braided back, its raven sheen glistening, held in place by a clasp made of silver. She was wearing a smartly cut designer suit of purple velvet, which set off her dark eyes and high-heeled boots. She came over to the bar and ordered a drink, a rum with Coke, then went over to where Duncan and Richie were sitting and straddled a chair. 

"MacLeod," she said. 

"Jeri. Is that you? It has been too long. You're looking well," Duncan said. 

"Richie, Duncan, it's good to see you guys again," she replied. 

"It's good to be seen," Duncan said, giving her a quick hug, which she then returned and gave a peck on the cheek to Richie. 

"What brings you back here?" Dawson asked, sidling over to a corner of the bar where he could get into the conversation. 

"I wouldn't have come back here, but I need your help. It's important," Jeri said. 

"You know you're welcome here any time, and whatever it is you need, all you have to do is ask," Duncan said. 

"I need you to do something for me." 

"What is it?" Duncan asked. 

"I need you go to Arizona. I'll provide the directions. There's something there I need you to retrieve. At the moment all I have is slip of paper with these directions written on them. 'Come with me. Come to me. I can give you truth unalloyed. I can set you free of all your bonds. It is greater than you know. Listen to me. Come with me.' 

"I have had strange dreams of late," Jeri said, handing the sheet of paper to MacLeod. 

"'Come with me. To the world's end. Stand with me. Forever.' Where did you get this?" Duncan demanded. 

"I'm really not sure. I remember waking up from a strange dream that I couldn't remember, and that piece of paper with those strange lines I found on my end table." 

"Richie, we're going to Arizona." 

"Thank you, Duncan. You don't know how much this means to me," Jeri sighed wearily. 

"Hey, Jer, you're welcome. You know that," Richie smiled. 

* * *

_Arizona, The Grand Canyon_

Several hours later, Richie, after having driven MacLeod's T-Bird to Arizona, checked in at the hotel and acquired a road map to the area; parked the car as he and Duncan were led out to the promontory. Walking up to the guardrail, ignoring Mac's restraining death grip on his leather jacket, Richie peered over the edge. "Richie, the sign... It says keep away from the guard railing," the older man warned. 

"Don't worry about hitting bottom, there isn't any," the guide said cheerfully, his red-brown skin contrasted against the early morning shadows streaking the rock formations of the canyon, which seemed to swallow him up. 

"Very funny," Duncan said. 

"Isn't there an other way to get down those trails?" Richie complained, eyeing the unprepossessing donkeys that were being saddled for them by the less than reassuring guide. 

"Remember, never stand behind this old beauty here, or she'll kick. Never approach a donkey on their blind side," the guide's voice droned on giving unasked for advice on the care and feeding of their mounts. 

"Not unless you want to walk down on your own two feet, Richie. It's too hot for this," Duncan said, removing his long coat," he muttered. 

"You've done this before?" Richie asked taking his red bandana from his head and retying his blonde hair back. "Oh, wait, I should have known you've done just about everything at least once before." 

"Not this time," Duncan replied. 

"What?" Richie exclaimed. "Remind me again why we're doing this?" 

"It's because Jeri McKenna specifically asked for our help," Duncan replied. 

"Yeah but why here, barring the wide open spaces, fresh air, and fantastic view?" 

"Won't know until we find what she sent us to look for," Duncan replied. 

Mounting up on the donkeys, they followed the guide's lead down the steep trail and down the maze-like formations of shale, limestone, and sandstone, formed by centuries of geologic formation. It had been sculpted in general by the downward cutting of the Colorado River, flowing the canyon's lowest portions. They passed by lava flows, hills composed of volcanic debris. 

"Okay, I understand now why we had to take donkeys down this way," Richie said as he began sliding off the his mount, gripped the reins and hung on for dear life. 

"Relax. It's only the first part that the worse. You'll get used to riding a donkey or a horse, it's not quite the same as riding that motorcycle of yours, is it?" Duncan laughed, watching Richie squirming around on his donkey. 

"Very funny," Richie said. 

Eventually they found a rock formation that resembled an alligator, which Jeri had mentioned when telling them what she wanted them to find in Arizona. "That's it," Duncan said. 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yeah, I'm sure," Duncan dismounting and cautiously sliding towards the cave entrance. 

"You think there's another Immortal waiting for us?" Richie asked. 

"I doubt Mckenna would have set us up like that. It's just that I believe in being on the safe side. There might a lot more mundane denizens in that cave. Like a puma for instance." 

Entering the cave, MacLeod found it empty of occupants at the moment. Giving the place a thorough inspection he found a folded piece of paper wedged into the walls of the cave and removed it. Unfolding it, he ascertained what he already half expected, it was a map. Exiting the cave, MacLeod waved to Richie. "Okay, I found what we were looking for. We can go now." 

"That was too easy. The way Jeri was talking you'd think this would be a lot harder," Richie said. 

"Maybe it will get more complicated once we take a look at this map," Duncan said. 

"What makes you say that?" Richie asked. 

"I'll let you know once we get back to the top of the canyon," Duncan said. "We're going somewhere else. We'll make the airline reservations as soon as we get back to the hotel." 

"Great," Richie muttered. 

* * *

_El Rub A Khalai, somewhere in Saudi Arabia_

By early morning several days later, having flown on a commercial airline to the Middle East, Duncan and Richie found themselves mounted on the desert horses the Arabians were justifiably famous for and were riding out into the desert, which meant the Sun's Anvil in Arabic. 

They had left the flatlands behind them the sparse greenery of tamarisk and desert blooms giving way to cacti and dunes, a crescent moon hung in the midnight sky, the stars were pin-pricks of silver light. The endlessly shifting dunes appeared over in their immediate line of sight stretching away to the horizon. The air shimmered from the heat. 

"And I thought Arizona was hot. So why are we like totally doing the Indiana Jones impression?" Richie asked. 

"You asked to come along," Duncan reminded him. "Besides, it's safer to travel at night, the heat is less, well relatively less." 

When night fell, he was ready to ride, they were both clad as riders who chose to affect the Olyenai fashion: the black robes, the head cloth, their swords, and the white head cloth to block the worst of the blowing dust. In their scrips they carried a carved ivory marker of safe passage, the map they had discovered in Arizona, the food provisions, and the water canteens. 

Duncan talked, unperturbed by Richie's surly silence due to the heat. His voice was like the rhythm of the riding, like the wind and all too seldom rain, in this place. Like the open sky, steady, lulling, even comforting. Then he would fall silent, that in turn would bring its comfort, a companionship that would demand nothing beyond itself. 

_Elsewhere_

The woman on the bed sprang awake, crying aloud. There were hands on her arms, a voice in her ears. _Not that deadly voice,_ she thought. _Not so soon. Not him. Why does he come to me in my dreams?_ she wondered. 

"It's only a dream," the soothing voice of the nurse said. 

Lies inextricably woven with truth. With agonizing slowness the dream retracted. She crouched, trembling, gasping as if she had been running hard from a terror too great to bear. Jeri McKenna clutched at the arms that held hair and collapsed back onto the bed. 

* * *

_Encounter_

Richie and Duncan felt their equilibrium rock as they sensed the presence of another Immortal. More dunes stood out ahead. difficult to surmount. Topping one such rise they found themselves in an oasis. "Jeri! Is that you?" Duncan asked. 

"You were expecting a genie or a houri?" She smiled. 

"What's a houri?" Richie asked. 

"It's an Arabic word for a version of the Siren," Duncan answered. 

"Why did you drag us out here. What is so important about this particular place. Maybe we shouldn't have come," Duncan demanded. 

"You know in your heart, if you did not come, you would have regretted it. You had to come here," Jeri said. "Duncan, Richie, please believe me. I had no ulterior motives. I did what I had to do. I had to get you here." 

"Yeah right. How did you get here ahead of us?" Richie asked. 

"Not all power is either pleasant or easy. Some must not be either. I'm not sure if you're going to be able to believe this, but, you see. I, uh teleported," she said. 

"You what!" both men said in unison. 

"Why, lass? What's your angle?" Duncan said. 

"What I'd like to know is why you've sent us on this wild goose chase?" Richie added. 

"No angle, Duncan, Richie," Jeri pleaded. 

The water in the tree-lined grotto laughed. "You have the gift. You cannot refuse it." 

"I can!" Duncan yelled. 

"Hey, Whoever you are, get outta my head!" Richie yelled. 

"So, too, must you," the soft voice echoed, and it wasn't the wind in this land of wind, sand, and sun in an endless cycle. The voice was no longer high, however, it was shading into deeper tones, hauntingly alien, far different than the tones both men were associated with the woman called Jeri Mckenna. She seemed to have lost all traces of her Scottish accent. 

"You're not Mckenna!" Duncan yelled. 

"How can you be so certain?" Richie asked. 

"Duncan, how can you say that?" she asked. 

"For lack of anything better, you may look like her, but you don't smell or feel like her."You're not wearing her perfume. I think that for Immortals who've known each other for several hundred years, have certain ways, patterns, mannerisms, an aura that one can identify. And if this 'person' was her, she wouldn't have dragged us out here. She's wearing her sword on the wrong side, and the scars on her palm are on the left. Jeri's right-handed." 

"Wow, I'm impressed, Sherlock MacLeod," Richie said. 

"Thank you. Elementary My dear Mr. Ryan," Duncan replied. 

* * *

_Revelations_

"Rats! Foiled again!" The person who looked like Jeri McKenna said, and with a snap of her fingers the semblance of their friend vanished leaving behind a tall, sandy-haired man, who stood about six feet tall and wore a crimson red tailored uniform sporting a silver stylized lapel pin. 

"Who the hell are you?" they asked at the same time. "Where's Jeri?" Duncan added. 

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am called Q," he announced. 

"Q? What kind of lousy name is that?" Richie asked. 

"Hey! Who's telling this story? Me or you? Okay, I'm an entity from the Q Continuum and I'm Immortal just like you, just like Mckenna. And don't worry, the woman is fine. I stashed her somewhere safe while I borrowed her semblance. You see, I know all about Immortals." His voice dropped to a low conspiratorial whisper and he added, "I created them....The Gathering....The Quickening....the rules, the works. Although why they added that rule about not fighting on holy ground is beyond me," he explained. 

"Is this guy for real?" Richie exclaimed. 

"Well, I've got news for you, whoever you are. You see, there's just one problem," Duncan said folding his arms across his chest. "I don't believe you. And as far as I'm concerned, you're wasting your breath and our time." 

"Yeah, I'm with him. If you created the Immortals, which I seriously doubt, then how come nobody's ever heard of you before?" Richie demanded, making a mental note to check with Joe Dawson when they returned to the States, to see if the Watchers had ever heard of this lunatic. 

"I did! I did!" the man who called himself Q said excitedly, jumping up and down. "Look what I'm offering you. How would you like to be able to travel anywhere in the blink of eye? I know what you're thinking, you want to check on me with your friend Dawson, I get you back to Washington without the cumbersome details of primitive aircraft all in a matter of seconds! How would you like to be able to do that? You'd have an edge in the Game, you'd have a power no other Immortal has. What do you say?" he added, an eager gleam in his eyes. 

"You said Jeri's safe. Where is she?" Duncan demanded. 

"Whatever it is you're selling! I don't want any," Richie added. 

"You want to see Mckenna? Fine. Your wish is my command!" Snapping his fingers the odd entity called Q produced a shimmering quicksilver light from his hands, and in one quick motion the world rocked underneath their feet. 

"I've got a bad feeling about this, Mac," Richie muttered. 

"You and me both," Duncan whispered back. 

Suddenly the immediate world vanished in a prismatic burst of light, of swirling colors banded with concentric circles of black in the void. A void, which made Duncan think eerily of the electrical field similar to a Immortal Quickening. Finding Richie's arm in the void, he gripped onto as a solid lifeline of reality as their consciousness fled to a safer corner of the universe. 

~The End~ 

* * *

To be continued in "Games Without Frontiers" 

© 2000  
Please send comments to the author! 

06/10/2000 

* * *


End file.
